


Displaced

by Sorenalice



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Angst, badger cereal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:01:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorenalice/pseuds/Sorenalice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because the living do not get lairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Displaced

**Author's Note:**

> Because this has been crawling around in my mind for a while and I just thought “eh, why not?” so I wrote this. This is mostly introspective and very short, probably very sad. Dr. John Cade was one of the first psychiatrists to prescribe pills for mental illness (Manic Depressive Disorder). I don’t know what I’m doing.

Danny  
There is a hole in my heart. At first I didn’t notice it much, but as I’m learning about myself more and more, it gets bigger.   
It’s a huge, painful, gaping void where something should be. Something warm and comforting and safe is missing from my heart.   
I don’t know what it could be.  
All I do know is that it hurts.  
It feels like there are these little strings that hold together my insides and keep me from collapsing from the inside. It’s like there’s a huge hole in the middle of my chest. It hurts so much and I don’t know how to make it stop.  
I never felt like this when I was human. I never felt this painfully empty. There were times when I was down, but never like this. I can’t even get any sleep because of this nothingness inside of me.  
I’m not sure if I can take it anymore.

Vlad  
I have been empty for twenty years. In my second year, during a checkup making sure I was still healing nicely, the doctor told me that I had clinical depression. I took the pills they gave me and started running marathons.   
Nothing worked.   
I still feel this prevailing sense of desolation in my very soul.  
It wasn’t until my fifth year that I was both considering suicide, and investigating a ghostly alternative.  
I was flying through the ghost zone one night, trying to find a medical doctor who could potentially diagnose me or treat me. I met a ghost by the name of Dr. John Cade. I told him of my issues, and he provided a possible solution.  
“Go to your lair to heal. Lairs heal all wounds” he said  
“I don’t have a lair.”  
“Well, that’s your problem, then. Isn’t it?”  
All ghosts are supposed to have lairs. Somewhere that boosts their healing and helps them relax. Somewhere specially made for the ghost in the Ghost Zone.  
A home.  
But, a half ghost is technically still alive.  
The living do not get lairs.  
Our ghost halves are homeless.   
And their homelessness, when attached to the psyche of a human, means severe depression.  
As humans we are loved and comfortable, but as ghosts we hate existence.  
Because what is living without a home?


End file.
